A New Breed
by LoveLorn Lupine
Summary: AU: Peter lives to fight another day and disapears, taking Scott with him. Ten Years Later, Stiles is a new kind of BAMF Hunter, trained by both Derek Hale and Chris Argent. Seeking his revenge on Peter Hale for the death of his father, and still trying to get his best friend back. He must team up with some old friends and some unlikely allies to achieve his goal.
1. A Werewolf's Downfall

**Hello wonderful readers and thank you for clicking! The first chapter of a new fic is always hard. I struggled with where to begin, but I think I've chosen nicely. I hope everyone enjoys _A New Breed_. I certainly love the character I have developed Stiles into. Let me know what you guys think! Any questions, feel free to ask...**

**FIC WARNINGS: explicit content! gore, sex, cursing. possible m/m, m/f YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

**Romance/Drama/Angst/Adventure/Humor/Mystery/Horror/Suspense/HurtComfort/Friendship**

The werewolf saw the gun in my hand, tensed as I lifted it. He ran, tried to dodge. He was unholy quick, but I'd been trained by the best and I aimed _before _him, knowing his reflexes. Just as I knew that halfway through he would twist in midair and kick off that tree for leverage, so he could bring his claws to bear on me. I knew he would do it, and I dodged, too, bringing my gun up and emptying the rest of the clip. Aconite bullets tore through his stomach, dark blood flying, but it barely slowed him. I had tried talking to him, but it seemed he was done listening. I hated when I had to put them down.

He was coming at me so fast, I backpedaled blindly as I fumbled for another clip. My clumsiness came in handy for once, and, as I tripped backwards onto my ass, the three-hundred-pounds of furry muscle tumbled over me, carried by the momentum of his lunge. I jammed the clip in and rolled, gaining my feet with a convulsive movement - knees drawn in before feet flung out, back curving, feet coming under to catch. It had taken awhile to perfect that move. I had been so proud when I had achieved it, but Chris had only nodded briefly in satisfaction when I'd shown him. That was his only sign of approval.

I sighed, pulling myself from my straying thoughts as I spun in a tight half-circle to catch the other 'wolf - a pretty female with flying black ink hair and shining amber eyes - as she leapt toward me. It wouldn't do well to let myself be distracted. Aconite lead flew as the bullet hit her leg, crumpling her. It wasn't a killing shot; I'd save her if I could. She was just trying to defend her packmate.

Then I heard the deep coughing roar of a werewolf in a rage. A very familiar noise. The male was _still_ up and moving!

_Holy shit!_

My left hand flashed down, closed around the hilt of my poisoned blade, and I jerked it from it's sheath.

_Okay you sonofabitch, lets tango._

I actually had time to let go of the hilt, flip my hand while the knife was in midair, and close my fingers on it once more before the wounded werewolf crashed heavily into me. There was no technique, it was sheer blind rage and overwhelming strength - which is many a werewolf's downfall. They get so used to bullying humans around, they don't use their strength effectively. I was trained to _never_ stop thinking about how to most effectively fuck up the werewolf giving me trouble right _now_.

Reflex had loosened my knees and let go of my righthand gun. I didn't need to do much, just grab a fistful of werewolf scruff, shift to the side a bit, and let his momentum carry him right onto the poisoned metal in my hand, plunging the cold knife into his chest. It killed him faster than aconite bullets to the gut would have. The poison was a recipe of my own concoction, with help from Derek of course. It was quick and efficient, attacking the nervous system, stopping the heart within a few short seconds. Designed specifically for the body chemistry and metabolism of a werewolf.

The big brute mamnaged a few more twitches and some drooly growls - soaking my shoulder in disgusting wolf slobber - before he finally went limp, and I lowered his still body to the ground.

When I turned around to tend to the girl, all I found was a trail of fresh blood leading off into the trees.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

I sheathed my blade, picked up my gun and tucked it back into my shoulder holster. I glanced around. I was in the middle of San Franciso, in a town park, after midnight. The chances of someone stumbling across the body of Mr. Meathead was about fifyty/fifty; there would be druggies and partyers and criminals roaming the city, the usual suspects that were present in any big city. I couldn't take any chances. I bent down and rolled the body of the massive werewolf into some nearby bushes, intending to come back later and fetch the body for proper disposal.

I needed to find that girl and neutralize the aconite, before she died.

**I know it's short, but it's really just a taste of what's to come. I probably won't be posting regular chapters for a couple of months, when the chaos dies down in my life, but for now I'll try to post as often as possible. Please review! I'd love to know what you think of it and what your predictions are.**

**I did a quick edit and fixed any mistakes I saw, but if you notice one I missed please point it out! Love you guys!**


	2. Less Than An Hour

**This fic has really gotten under my skin, and I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I was going to wait a bit longer to post this chapter, but decided now would be best, since I have it so fresh in my mind. Chapter two is finally here! lol**

I slipped in the blood a little as I hurried to follow the girl into the small stand of trees. To one side was the road, and to the other was just more trees, leading off into a heavily wooded area. The blood trail led toward the trees, as I suspected it would. Every werewolf feels safer in the woods, away from civilization, away from the presence of humans. It was an instinctual wolfy thing, especially when they were injured.

It also made my job quite a bit harder, having to follow a trail of dark blood at night, under the cover of shadowy foliage. The girl had to have known what I'd shot her with, had to know she had been poisoned with aconite and would die soon, unless she got one of my bullets. So, either she wanted to die, or she had backup somewhere out here waiting for her. I had to tread warily, silently.

I distributed the weight of my feet carefully, creeping through the undergrowth and dead leaves with near silence. But it wouldn't be noise that gave me away, it would be scent. I had no clue if there were other werewolves out here, or where they were, so I didn't know where to position myself so that I would be upwind of them, like Derek taught me. I was, literally, traveling blind.

There were spatters and drops of blood here and there, but I had to strain my eyes to see them. I estimated that the girl only had a minimum of about four hours until the aconite killed her. It was a new recipe, a stronger, more concentrated, liquid version that spread and killed quicker. Chris had devised it, and he made me switch out my old aconite bullets for the ones I used now. I was reluctant, but figured that if I was shooting at something, I meant to kill it anyway, right? This situation proved us both wrong.

I sped up my pace into a swift run as the spatters of blood grew into puddles. She was losing too much blood. I must have hit an artery by accident. Which meant she had less than an hour. Her trail was erratic, zigzagging and frantic. She was trying to keep me from tracking her, but she didn't seem to realize that her life depended on me finding her. She was lucky I was such a good tracker.

A howl echoed through the trees, long and high and sharp. The female, calling her pack for help, using the sound to help her packmate pinpoint her location. Two howls echoed her, one deeper and raspy, sounding distinctively male, the other stronger and higher. The male was close by, much closer than I would have liked, and the female was far off, sounding like she was on the other side of the highway. It wouldn't take very long for her to get closer, though.

I cursed under my breath and sprinted in the direction of the injured female's howl. She was very close by, but still on the move, headed in the direction of her male packmate. I had to intercept her, or I would just have another fight on my hands, and then she would be dead, anyway.

Branches cracked and leaves crunched with the sound of a wounded animal barreling through the trees as she ran wildly. She was scared, she knew I was nearby, she was trying to reach her packmate before I reached her. But she wasn't fast enough, and she wasn't being careful enough, and she gave away her location with her frantic fleeing.

I skidded into her path before I could slow down my momentum, and she roared when she spotted me, lunging at me with claws and teeth bared, making her final stand, and I ducked under them, catching her around the waist as she tried to veer past me at the last minute. She fought furiously, but, with her injury, she wasn't much stronger than a human girl, and easy to restrain.

She snapped and snarled and tried to get at me with her teeth and claws, but I held her arms firmly by her side, held her body facing away from me.

"Calm the fuck down! I'm just trying to help you!" I snapped out, grunting as she jerked suddenly, almost pulling free.

"I don't need help to die!" she growled, snapping her head back to try and hit me in the nose. I turned my head to the side and held her tighter.

"If you calm down," I said, trying to make my voice a little gentler. "I will let go of you and give you one of my bullets. The shit in your leg isn't just any old aconite, it kills much faster, so you'd better make a fucking decision quick." Instead of calming down, or answering me, she threw back her head and howled again, a distress call. I wanted to clamp my hand over her mouth and shut her up, but knew better than to get any part of my body anywhere near those teeth.

"Fuck you!" she snarledat me as her howl trailed off.

"Charming," I answered sarcastically.

Before I could say another persuasive word, it was too late. There was only the snapping of a twig to give him away, and I barely had time to whirl around toward the noise before another werewolf was barreling out of the trees toward me. My knees buckled and I dropped, bringing the girl with me, rolling clear of the rampaging werewolf just in time. In the process, the girl managed to wiggle free, braking away with a swift unlanded kick aimed in my direction.

"Naomi, run!" the male werewolf barked, voice growling and raspy in a way that I wasn't sure had to do with the change or not.

"Wait!" I yelled as she obeyed him, sprinting off into the trees, toward the other female. She would die without one of my bullets, and her packmate had just signed her death warrant. I rounded on him with a scowl, body tense, ready to fend off another attack. But the male just stood there, staring at me, I assume, since his face was mostly shadowed and I couldn't get a good look at him. "You just killed your packmate, you know," I snapped. "She'll be dead in less than an hour if she doesn't neutralize the aconite immediately." I pulled my gun out, and the werewolf tensed, but still didn't attack. I wasn't going to shoot him, but he didn't know that. I popped out my clip and removed a bullet, then tossed it to him. He caught it reflexively. "Get that to her quickly or she's dead." I ordered.

I didn't know why this werewolf hadn't attacked me, but I wasn't taking any chances that he might change his mind. I replaced my clip, then held my gun down, by my side, just in case. He still just stood there. Did he not know the meaning of "quickly"? I saw him shift position in the shadows, and something about that movement seemed vaguely familiar. I shook it off. The only werewolves I knew these days lived far from here.

"Why are you helping us, Hunter?" the werewolf rasped. I shrugged.

"I'm the one that shot her, but it was only to temporarily immobilize her. She is innocent of any crime that I know of. She didn't deserve to die. Her burly blond friend on the other hand _did_." I've always been a talker, and I never know when to shut up. Apparently I had said too much. The werewolf before me snarled, deep in his chest, and took a step toward me.

"Mikail? You killed Mikail?"

"I didn't _want_ to kill him! He attacked first, I was just defending myself. You know, you're wasting a lot of time here talking to me. Naomi is probably dying somewhere. Shouldn't you go help her?" As if on cue, a sound came from the trees behind the male, and I noticed him twitch almost imperceptively at the noise before he relaxed. A blond, female werewolf came into view, standing a step behind him. He lifted the bullet in his hand, passed it to her over his shoulder, head turned toward me the whole time.

"Hurry, Scott. We don't have much time," she whispered before disappearing back into the trees, and a cold shock went through me. Scott? Could it be? There was more than one person named Scott in the world, but what were the odds...

"Scott?" my voice cracked a tiny bit as I said his name. I hadn't even meant to speak, it had just come out involuntarily, as most things do. I hated how small and childish my voice sounded, how hopeful and weak.

The werewolf sighed quietly, then he took a couple more steps forward, until he stood in a shaft of moonlight. It _was_ Scott. Scott McCall, whom I hadn't seen since he had disappeared the night my father was killed, the night Beacon Hills was nearly burned to the ground and Peter took his pack and disappeared forever. Until now.

Scott being here meant Peter was here, somewhere, too. In this city. Packs never split up, they always stayed in the same city together. Another thing Derek had taught me.

I couldn't stop looking at his face. He looked so much different. What really got to me were the scars. His throat was covered in scars. It took a lot to scar a werewolf, so he had to have been injured pretty badly, or multiple times. That must have been why his voice was so raspy and thick. He was stronger and more muscular, a bit taller, his hair was cut brutally short, and his face was covered in stubble. But it was Scott. His mouth quirked up in a tiny, tiny grin that held just a hint of his old fire.

"Hey, Stiles," he rasped.

**Hope you guys enjoyed it! I can't promise when the next chapter will be updated, but I'll do it as soon as I can! Pretty please review!**

**Special thanks to Wolf Caper! This fic would never have been posted without you! Love you Wolfy!  
**


	3. Strangers

**Hello all, and welcome once again! I'd like to thank Wolf Caper, and you all should, too, if you like my fic. WC was the one that pushed me to post this chapter and not procrastinate! You guys should check out her _Teen Wolf_ fan forum! It's really cool and it needs members! beaconhills(dot)proboards(dot)com**

**I'm trying to move things along a little faster now, so after this chapter, I will try not to draw scenes out so much anymore. I don't want fifty chapters for this fic, because it's a little discouraging to readers, in my opinion, lol. Okay, hope you guys like it! Here it is!**

I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say. 'Hey' seemed such a meager word in comparison with all I _wanted_ to say, and all I wanted Scott to say to me. I tried to say the word, a simple greeting, but it got lodged in my throat and refused to come out. I swallowed, hard, and tried again. Still nothing.

I saw Scott's eyes drop to my gun, hanging down by my side in a boneless grip. He looked wary as he eyed the weapon, but I wasn't taking any chances. I didn't know if his time with Peter had warped him, made him different. I didn't know if he was dangerous to me, so I wasn't going to let my guard down.

I couldn't believe I had finally found him. I'd found Scott! Or... he'd found me... Which meant I'd found Peter. Finally. After years of searching, of following trails that went cold, leads that mysteriously died, and piles of bodies that held no answers. Peter was here, in this city... in _my_ city...

I tried to speak again, but before I found out whether I'd be able to get my words out this time, a short, sharp howl rose from the trees nearby. Scott's face took on a curious look, one I didn't recognize. Fierce and intense and lethal, it transformed him, making him look every bit the werewolf that he was, making me forget that my puppy-dog-best-friend had ever even existed.

He turned his face upward, to the sky, and let out a short howl of his own. I wasn't sure exactly what they were communicating, since every pack spoke their own howl-language, but it sounded like he was cancelling reinforcements. I can't say I didn't appreciate it.

Before my mind realized it, my body acted, and I was tucking my gun away, sliding it into the waistband of my pants automatically. I had learned to trust my gut and listen to my instincts, and they were telling me that Scott meant me no harm. I listened.

"You're still with Peter." I finally managed to speak, but the words that came out weren't the ones I'd meant to say. I saw Scott wince, almost imperceptively, but I noticed. My words weren't a question, but Scott knew I was asking them anyway. He nodded once, sharply.

"You're a Hunter." His words weren't a question either, they were more like an accusation of betrayal. He had no right to feel betrayed.

"Ever since my father was killed," I bit out through clenched teeth. I was shamefully pleased by the look of pain that crossed Scott's face. I'd always wondered if he knew what had happened that night. Now I had my answer. He didn't speak, but he didn't look away. I was seething. "Why didn't you just leave?" I said before I could stop myself. Scott's jaw tightened. He glanced behind him, into the trees, then turned back to me.

"Pack is for life," he growled, low and deep.

I scoffed and shook my head in disbelief. "Don't drink the kool-aid, dude."

He didn't react to my words, and I could see something in his face. It was almost as if he wanted to tell me something, to say something that he couldn't. He kept glancing at the trees around us, as if there were other werewolves lurking everywhere. Hell, for all I knew, there could have been. I felt secure and in control, but it could have just been an illusion...

I was overcome with the urge to hug him, but I somehow resisted. Now was _so_ not the time. I knew he hadn't played any part in my father's death, and that he wasn't responsible for any of Peter's actions. Scott's only crime - as far as I knew, at the moment - was being weak, giving in, letting Peter control him. It was unfortunate, but not exactly his fault.

I tried not to let myself be so affected by the appearnce of my childhood friend, but it was difficult. _Cool, calm and collected. Nonchalant and emotionless, _I told myself. _Like Chris. Like Derek. Not like yourself!_ I knew I couldn't just give him a hug and make a dinner date. He was a part of Peter's pack. He was too dangerous to associate with until Peter was dead, once and for all.

It was good to see him, though, even if it hurt, even if I couldn't hug him or talk to him like I wanted to. It was good to know that he was alive. He had been through a hell of a lot since we had last seen one another, I could tell, but he had come through it and survived, as always. That was one of the things we had in common. We were survivors.

He looked so different to me, and I wondered if I looked as strange and unfamiliar to him. I had grown a couple of inches taller, put on a few pounds of muscle. My hair was still basically the same, but I was covered in tattoos and scars now, and I had a perpetual scruffy-sctubble-thing going on because I was usualy too lazy or too busy to shave. My free time was better spent pursuing other activities besides shaving. If I wasn't hunting werewolves or training, then I was eating or sleeping or fucking. When did I have time to shave?

We were both completely different people now. The events in our lives had warped us, changed us for the better and for the worse. I had changed when my father died, changed again when I started my training with Chris and Derek, and again when I completed it. Changed when Derek had... _Don't think about it, not right now. Can't afford any distractions!_ My inner voice was always so fucking helpful, and it always sounded like my father, to me.

I didn't know what Scott had gone through since we had parted, and he didn't know anything about me, either. We were starngers to each other now. Our days of sleeping over and pigging out on junk food and playing video games all night were long gone. We weren't teenagers any more and hadn't been for a long time.

"I can't stay," Scott murmured, voice soft and raspy. "They're expecting me..." He looked regretful, and I knew how he felt. All I wanted to do - besides hug him - was talk to him. I wanted to get to know him again, here about what he had gone through, how he'd gotten those scars... oh, yeah, and how I could find and kill his Alpha. _Can't forget about that..._

I wondered, now, if this was a setup. If Scott had been sent to distract me. If Peter knew I had been hunting him all these years and was sending a Trojan horse in to take me out, hoping I would be taken in by a familiar face. My hand twitched, itching to reach for my gun again, to feel the familiar, comforting weight of it. But I didn't want Scott to get the wrong impression.

I nodded. "I understand. 'Pack is for life' and all that crap." I couldn't ask him now. I couldn't get the information I needed from him in this place, in these woods with other werewolves lurking around. It wasn't safe and it wasn't smart.

"That's not it..." he said evasively, taking a step toward me, looking almost desperate, oddly enough. "I want to help you," he said, voice falling to a barely audible raspy whisper. "But I can't. You don't understamd. It's not just me-"

A low, short howl rose up, cutting him off. It sounded as if it was just a few yards away, and an expression of fear crossed Scott's face briefly. I didn't understand any of what the howl was supposed to mean, but obviously Scott did.

"I have to go," he whispered. Before I could react, he had stepped forward and placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezed it once, then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the trees without a sound. Neither of us had said goodbye.

I turned heading quickly in the opposite direction. I didn't want anything to do with whoever had scared Scott. At least, not at the present moment, under-armed, and with no backup, not knowing if it was Peter or someone else. I followed my trail back out of the trees, toward the place where I had taken down the big male earlier. I checked under the bushes for the body, but it wasn't there. I hoped that meant his pack had come to collect it. I didn't know what else it could of meant.

I sighed a relieved breath as I headed toward the parking lot at a slow trot. No body disposal tonight, thank god. After tonight's physical exertion and emotional exhaustion, I _really_ didn't feel up to cutting, burning and dumping. I was ready to take a hot shower, pour a stiff drink, and climb into bed. There were some things I had to do beforehand, but all I could think about was sleep. I had been running myself ragged lately, even though I knew it was dangerous. I couldn't afford to lose focus and get distracted, couldn't afford the exhaustion that made me weak, and could lead to my death. I couldn't die yet. Not until Peter was dead.

I trotted across the parking lot, toward my black four-door jeep, parked in the concealing blanket of a tree's shadow, hidden from the bright street light. I pulled out my phone as I climbed into the driver's seat, dialed a number I knew by heart. He answered on the second ring.

"Chris." I said, letting out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

"What's wrong, Stiles?"

"I found him. Peter's here, in the city."

**Hope you guys like the third installment of _A New Breed_! I'm really enjoying writing it! Please review, let me know what you think, what you liked, what you didn't like...**


	4. A Dog in the Fight

**Okay, so sorry for the wait, I got distracted by Season Two! Hopefully I'll be able to update more often from now on. Special thanks to reader xMissxSpunkyx ! I probably wouldn't have posted this chapter yet if not for your comment!**

**Hope you all enjoy chapter four!**

"Are you certain?" Chris' voice was hard and steely now, as opposed to the quiet concern from before.

"I saw Scott. He's still alive, still in Peter's pack. Which means Peter is here. I'm _sure_, Chris." There was silence from the other end. A breath being released in a rush.

"You're okay?" He said finally, sounding strained, like he was forcing the words out. I smirked ruefully. I knew he didn't mean just physically. I knew he was asking if I was okay emotionally, if I would still be able to do my job, knowing Scott would possibly be in the line of fire, knowing Peter would use what remained of our friendship to get to me. In truth, I didn't know the answer to that. _Was_ I okay?

"Fine. Thanks for your concern." I said with a grin, knowing it would annoy him. He made a growling, throat clearing noise, but didn't speak. I sighed. "I'm calling Derek, Chris."

"Stiles-" There was a warning tone in his voice, but I overrode him.

"_I'm calling him._ I promised."

"You haven't seen him in almost five years! What do you think-"

"I don't care. I made a promise. I'll see you tomorrow." I flipped my phone closed and shoved it back in my pocket. It started ringing almost immediately, but it was Chris' ring, so I ignored it. Voicemail picked up. It didn't ring again.

I buckled my seatbelt - an annoying habit left over from having a Sherriff for a father - and started the Jeep, pulling out of the parking lot and speeding back towards my apartment. It was three in the morning and I had a radar detector; I wasn't worried about police. Besides, I was and _excellent_ driver. There was no danger of me crashing.

Knowing Peter was in town, knowing revenge was at hand, all I should have been thinking about was killing Peter, seeing Scott, figuring out how to save him. That's what any normal person would have been thinking about. So why was it that all I could think about was Derek? Both craving and dreading the moment I would see him again.

X X X X

After the unsuccessful battle with Peter, the Alpha had disappeared, taking Scott and the rest of his new pack with him. Leaving the town half burned, my father dead, and half the residents either dead or injured. The man had issues, serious ones. I was sent to live with my grandmother, in Oregon. Conveniently enough, the Argents moved to Portland a couple weeks later.

I thought I'd never see anyone from Beacon Hills again, least of all Derek Hale. I was wrong. Two weeks after I moved in with my grandmother, I was woken in the middle of the night to the sound of my screen being ripped from my window. Derek climbed into my room and said, "I'm crashing here tonight." I gaped at him, as I have a tendency to do, told him, "Fine, but you better not have fleas," and went back to sleep. From then on, Derek was my roommate.

I had already started training with Chris by then, and I didn't tell anyone but Allison about Derek. He was unhappy that I was training to become a Hunter, but he had no say in my life, and he couldn't prevent me from doing it, so he did the next best thing. He decided he would train me, too. As if he hoped to derail Chris' training, or something.

Being trained by _two_ hardasses was _a pain_ in the ass, and exhausting as fuck, but I managed with little sleep or down time for as long as I could before they nearly ran me into the ground. I had to come clean to Chris about what was going on, before I died of sleep deprivation. He wasn't as angry as I'd thought. Oh, he threw a fit and refused to train me anymore, but I went to visit him a couple days later and, ah, changed his mind. From then on, he seemed to take it as a challenge that Derek was training me, too. The two men set up a strict schedule for me, allotting plenty of time for sleep and school, but they still competed for my time and fought over who taught me what. It was almost as exhausting as it had been _before_ the schedule, the way I was always caught between them.

Chris trained my body and Derek trained my mind... usually. Sometimes, without any agreement between the two, it seemed, they would switch roles, and Derek would teach me the physical werewolf stuff while Chris taught me the psychological Hunter stuff.

They were always in synch with each other, the perfect training team, somehow without communication. It creeped me out sometimes. It didn't mean they hated each other any less, as I heard _quite_ often from the both of them. They were eternal enemies, the werewolf and the hunter, the Argent and the Hale. But they were so alike that it scared me sometimes. I was sure that, if they could learn to forgive each other and look past certain... characteristics, that they would be great friends. Too bad they were too prejudiced... I know it would have made my life one hell of a lot easier...

X X X X

I was almost back to my apartment when I remembered that there were other people I had to contact besides Derek. Others that had a dog in the fight, that had a vendetta against Peter for one reason or another. A young werewolf couple, a few hunter buddies... it could wait until the morning. Meaning, when I woke up today. Derek, on the other hand, could not and would not wait. Even though he was who-knows-how-many miles away, his impatience still affected me, and I gritted my teeth as I tried to compose the perfect voicemail message. It was three o'clock in the morning, so I was hoping that meant I wouldn't have to talk to him, that he'd either be asleep or out frolicking in the forest howling at the moon and slaughtering bambi's mom... or whatever it was he liked to do these days.

I _had_ to call him, though, just like I'd told Chris. I'd promised him, and he'd promised me. We'd made a pact, a long time ago, that if either one of us found Peter, we would let the other in on the hunt. _No matter what._

I wasn't really looking forward to the feelings and memories that seeing Derek again would bring to the surface; things I had tried to keep buried for the past five years. Even hearing his voice over the phone would get to me, I knew. But I couldn't break my vow. No matter how tense and uncomfortable our short phone conversations tended to get. Which was why I was hoping his voicemail would pick up.

X X X X

Things had been great between us before he had left. Not perfect, but not horrible. We had actually learned how to get along without killing each other. Not that we had much choice, since Derek _was_ living in my room, unbeknownst to my poor, sweet, oblivious grandmother Stilinski.

A few weeks into my training, I realized that Derek had been sleeping in bed with me, for who knew how long. He usually snuck in after I fell asleep, and snuck out as I was waking up. I caught him a couple of times, but I knew it was just a snuggly-puppy-werewolf thing. A pack thing. Since, apparently, Derek considered me HUMANPACK. I tolerated it, accepted it, and grew to like it, and he stopped hiding it. It was nice sharing my bed with another warm, hard body. He helped keep my nightmares away. Those horrible ones filled with smoke and fire and blood and screams. Derek was a cuddler, too, though he'd rip your throat out before he'd admit to that.

As far as teachers went, Derek was a strict as they came, just like Chris. But, unlike Chris, Derek was a little more personable with me outside of training. Not to say we had long heartfelt conversations or laughed together a lot. Things were always intense and strange between us, but we had a certain, quiet affection for each other. We had grown to trust and rely on one another, and we shared a bed most nights… so, how could we not become closer?

I don't know how prepared either of us were, though, for what happened next. Maybe that was why Derek left. Maybe he just wasn't ready for what he had caused…

X X X X

I managed to wrench my thoughts away from memories of Derek, and expelled a frustrated sigh. He wasn't even here yet and it was already starting. I was already so caught up on him that it was distracting from the world around me. Not good, especially considering the last couple hours…

I backed my jeep into the parking space in the front, the one I always used, headlights facing the street, just in case there was a need for a quick escape. I wasn't expecting one, but you could never be too careful. I had learned that the hard way, after wasting precious time having to back out of parking spaces more than a few times. I expelled a breath of air that was meant to help me calm myself, but didn't really do much good… then I removed my phone from my pocket again, closing my eyes briefly, steeling myself for what was to come. I dialed the number. Like Chris' number, I knew it by heart, even if I had dialed it about a million times less.

_Please don't let him answer, please don't let him answer…_

I was hoping he would be busy, asleep, or out frolicking in the woods… I practiced my message in my head as I counted rings, sure he wouldn't pick up.

On the fifth ring, Derek answered, and that sure threw me for a fuckin' loop. I wasn't prepared to speak to him directly, was genuinely expecting his voicemail for some fucking reason.

"Yeah?" He sounded out of breath, but alert and curious. "What is it?" As if we were just picking up a conversation, as if it hadn't been almost two years since I had last been in touch with him. I couldn't speak for a moment, I couldn't remember at all what I had been planning on saying to his answering machine. Temporary amnesia. "Stiles?" The familiar voice, warm and deep and rough, softened as it said my name, and I jarred myself out of my mute stupor and back into reality.

"Um, hey, uh, Derek. How's it goin'?" I facepalmed as soon as the words escaped from my mouth, smothering a groan. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. You sound like a child._

"Fine. What's wrong?" He sounded wary, serious and scowling as usual.

"I found Peter." I just blurted it. Why not? I heard his quick intake of breath, of shock, and knew what he was feeling. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited or him to respond.

"Where?" He finally breathed. He didn't ask me if I was sure, didn't ask me for details. He just wanted to know where, to get this show on the road, just as I did.

"Here, in, uh San Francisco. I have a plan. I'm going after him tomorrow, so—"

"No, that's too soon," Derek said, interrupting me. I scowled. _Bossy werewolf._

"We can't afford to waste time. Tomorrow is—"

"It's not a waste, it's important. If Peter is in San Francisco, then he's there for a reason. He's not going anywhere yet. I'll be there soon, and we can come up with a plan." He sounded so confident, so sure and determined, and if I didn't know him so well, I wouldn't have seen past that. But I did know Derek, better than I really wanted to sometimes, even after all the time apart. I knew him, and I knew that he was really shaken up about this, that he wasn't calm at all, that he was angry and excited and nervous and so many other things… I knew because that was how I felt, and I knew because I could hear it in his voice, in his breathing,,,

"I already have a plan, Derek," I tried to argue, practically growling the words through clenched teeth. He never let me take the lead on anything. He always had to be the boss. It was infuriating.

"The drive shouldn't take me more than twelve hours or so." He said, choosing to ignore me, apparently. I let out a frustrated sigh, opening my mouth to argue with him once more… but before I could say anything else, I heard another voice on the other line, a female, speaking in the background. I couldn't make out her words, but they sounded slurred and sleepy. A completely ridiculous and irrational spike of jealously shot through me, unfair and unrightful, and I clenched my teeth to try and keep myself from saying anything I'd regret.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" Came out anyway, despite my attempts to swallow the idiotic words, and I buried my face in my hand, appalled at the bitter jealousy so plain in my voice.

"No," Derek said casually, nonchalantly. Completely ignoring my quite obvious jealousy. I wasn't sure whether to be grateful or offended. "I'm leaving as soon as I can. I'll meet you at your place." His words were clipped and pointed, an obvious goodbye. I flipped my phone closed without another word. I didn't even bother to ask him how he knew where I lived. Such were the mysteries of Derek Hale, All Knowing Wolf God.

X X X X

The door to my apartment was unlocked, and a grin twitched at my lips as I let myself in, knowing what that meant. I stepped over the thin plank of mountain ash wood that was nailed into the floor of the doorway, and shut the door behind me. A dark head popped up over the back of the couch, and I was greeted with a dimpled smile. I heard noise in the kitchen, but didn't bother looking.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Danny asked, sitting up fully as I continued into the living room, shedding my blood-spattered t-shirt and tossing it, aiming vaguely for the hamper in the corner next to the washer. I didn't answer him as I kicked off my muddybloody boots, and they skidded underneath the dining table. I emptied my pockets onto the tabletop; hastily collected shell casings mixed with clumps of grass and mud. Unstrapped my sheath of knives and dropped them onto the tabletop, too. I kept my gun, though, out of habit.

"Whiskey, _please_," I said to Jackson, who stood in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. He grunted through a mouthful of meat and bread, dropping his sandwich into the counter to retrieve a glass and the bottle from the cabinet as I practically collapsed into one of the mismatched dining chairs.

"That bad, huh?" Danny asked, standing up from his position on the couch, stretching before coming to join me at the table. I just gave him look, unsure how to articulate the past few hours since I'd left.

"Wha happen?" Jackson said through a mouthful of food as he took another bite of his sandwich and delivered my drink to me. Whiskey, straight up, in a tall glass. He sat at the table next to me, Danny sat opposite me, and they both looked at me curiously as I took a deep swig of my whiskey. I sighed, and decided to just blurt it out; that had seemed to work so well before.

"I killed the blonde wolf that's been causing trouble," I started out, then took another swig of my drink before continuing. "Turns out he was part of Peter Hale's pack! Go figure, huh?" I laughed, even though it wasn't really funny at all. My two friends just gaped at me. I snickered, wondering if I looked as unattractive when I gaped like that. "Oh, and guess what? I saw Scott, too!" I let out another bitter laugh and the rest of my drink went down the hatch.

Danny had that look on his face, now. That worried, mommy-look, the one that said he was more worried about my state of mental health than Peter Hale being in town. Jackson just looked kind of angry. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then Jackson stood up from the table abruptly, took my empty glass, and went back into the kitchen. He poured me another drink, and then made two more, which he brought back to the table, setting them in front of Danny and I, and taking one for himself. I knew exactly how he felt, and I downed half my second drink in one swallow.

Sometimes the only thing that got you though was the booze and random sex, but other times it was the thirst for revenge, the hunger for blood and violence and a good fight. Right now, I didn't care either way. I just wanted to clan my wounds, bathe the werewolf blood off of me, and go to sleep. The new day, and all the challenges it would bring with it, would be easier to face if I wasn't so exhausted, dead on my feet, dog tired.

"I already called Derek," I muttered into my drink, almost ashamed to admit it. Jackson fixed me with a knowing look, arched an eyebrow infuriatingly. His half-eaten sandwich sat at the edge of the table, forgotten for the time. I didn't even want to look at Danny, didn't want to see the look _he_ was giving me. I was sure it would be pitying and sympathetic, and I didn't think I could take that right now.

"_And_?" Jackson prompted impatiently.

"And, nothing," I said. "He says he'll be here tomorrow. That's it."

Jackson looked disappointed. "You didn't talk to him about anything else?"

"Like _what_, Jackson?" I snapped without meaning to, standing up from the table suddenly. I left my half-empty drink behind. The other two hadn't even touched theirs. Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Danny reached across the table and patted his hand. Jackson looked at him and Danny shook his head. They both looked at me, mute again, and I growled my annoyance and spun around, leaving them in my dining room. I fled into my bedroom, away from their knowing looks and sympathetic smiles.

All things considered, they had taken the news about Peter and Scott surprisingly well. But, then again, in our line of work, it was damn hard to find something that would shock us anymore. Kinda sad, really.

I yanked my sweaty undershirt off over my head as I hurried into the bathroom, kicking my pants off along the way. I set my gun carefully on the counter and pulled the first-aid kit out from under the sink. A quick, burningly-painful silver nitrate injection came first, as always; all hunters found out soon enough that, although only Alpha's could Bite and Turn you, Betas and Omegas carried their own kinds of viruses. Infections and diseases, deadly to humans, as well as imprinted memories, and the possibility of something even more frightening if the circumstances lined up correctly. I would never forget the horrific lizard-like creature that a fellow hunter named Matt had been turned into after a nasty run-in with a vicious omega. I still didn't understand how exactly that had happened, but I wasn't about to take any chances. The guy had turned into a murderous monster, completely different from a werewolf, and I didn't want to be subjected to the same kind of treatment that Matt had been. The silver nitrate injections were a relatively new solution, but they worked as a cure-all and a preventative. Most hunters used the injections, and they didn't even know that the damn things were a formula of my own devising… with Derek's help, of course.

Once the sting of the silver burning through my veins faded, I faced the full leangth mirror on the back of the half-closed bathroom door. I had a few ragged, but shallow claw scrapes along my ribs. I had a pretty bad bruise blooming on my back, but other than that, I had gotten away scott-free…. No broken bones, no blood loss, no incapacitation. But, then, it had only been _one_ wolf I was fighting alone…

I stripped off my boxers, finally, and bent over to adjust the water temperature in the shower. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and turned to see Jackson draped against the doorjamb of the bathroom, arms crossed, eyeing me speculatively.

"Boundaries, Jackson," I grumbled as I twisted the knobs. He ignored me, smirked.

"Danny's cleaning up your messes. Want me to clean your gun for you? Shine your boots? Scrub your back, maybe?" He sounded mocking and irritable. I didn't know what his problem was, but I wasn't in the mood to try and figure it out right now. I turned to glare at him.

"Yes, that would be great, Jackson, thanks. Go on, hop to it!" I snapped at him. He just looked at he, infuriatingly smug, and I realized I was just standing there naked, snarling at him. I turned and climbed into the shower, yanking the curtain closed with a bit more force than maybe was necessary. I never asked Danny to clean up after me. This was my apartment, not his. It wasn't my fault that doing my laundry and my dishes and cooking for me seemed to be his favorite pastimes, was it?

"You're an asshole," Jackson muttered, without much heat. I scoffed.

"Speak for yourself, dickhead," I said lightly. I heard him snicker.

"Yeah, you love it," he murmured. Neither of us spoke for a moment, and I was beginning to think he had left. Too bad he hadn't. "So, did you really talk to Derek?" he asked. It was a stupid question, and I wasn't in the mood for stupid questions.

"So, Jackson," I purred, peeking around the shower curtain a him and grinning invitingly. "Are you gonna come scrub my back, or what?" His eyes widened comically. He swallowed audibly. Then he turned and fled the bathroom, leaving the door wide open, though I heard my bedroom door slam shut. I laughed, relived that my plan had worked. I hadn't been sure how he would react, if he would take me up on my offer or run away. Either would have been fine with me, really. I just wanted him to shut up.

X X X X

Hours later, Jackson and Danny had gone home, to their shared apartment in the next building. I was in bed, blessedly, _finally,_ asleep. My hand was resting against my gun, under my pillow, and I was comforted by the familiar cold weight of the weapon. I didn't always sleep with my gun under my pillow – usually only in my nightstand – but I figured, after the earlier events, a little extra protection and caution was needed. And, apparently, I was right.

A faint sound woke me from a hazy fiery dream. My eyes snapped open immediately, but I stayed perfectly still, lying there, listening. An unfamiliar, out of place sound that didn't belong in my quiet apartment. There it went again. A faint tapping… like a fingernail against glass…

I rolled over swiftly, bringing the gun out from under my pillow and cocking it, pointing it at the window. I half expected to see Derek there. It was almost like I was a kid again, just for an instant. Then my eyes focused… It wasn't Derek at all…

Amber eyes glowed at me through the glass, almost looking like their old puppy-dog selves, minus the beastshine. Scott peered in through my window at me, kept at bay by the plank of mountain ash nailed into my windowsill. The plank I drilled into every windowsill in every room I had slept in… for five years now. I was so fucking sick of werewolves always coming through my goddamn windows! Well, now I didn't have that problem.

I dropped my gun to my side and sat up, kept looking at him, at those amber eyes, but I didn't say anything. I was waiting for him to speak. I heard a whine, a pleading, animal-like noise.

"Let me in, Stiles," Scott said, words soft, muffled by the glass. "I need to talk to you."

**So… let me know what you guys think, please! Did you like it? Not like it? Like this but not that? TELL ME! Love you guys, you're awesome …**


	5. More Than Life or Death

**Here is chapter five! Hope you guys enjoy! Thanks to all my readers, you guys are frickin' awesome! Sorry for any errors my spellcheck missed. I was trying to post this quick before I went to sleep…**

I scowled at Scott as I sat up, scooted to the edge of the bed to face the window, but I didn't say anything. He looked so imploring, so pleading, that I couldn't help but wonder if it was just an act,

"Stiles… please…" He met my eyes, and I stared him down.

"Go ahead, talk," I said, not giving an inch, not averting my gaze. Scott's jaw tightened, and he looked away, breaking eye contact.

"Can't I come in?" I could barely hear him, his voice almost a whisper. He sounded sort of hurt, and I had to remind myself that he could be here on orders from Peter, that he could be intentionally deceiving me.

"No." I said, trying not to sound too harsh, anyway. I still had a soft spot for my old friend, but not one big enough to let my guard down.

"Will you come out?" He sounded hopeful, tentative.

"So you and your friends can ambush me? I don't think so." It came out before I could stop it, but I can't say I really regretted the words. I did regret the look that came over Scott's face, though, and had to remind myself again that this could all be an act… but, on the other hand, it could all be totally sincere, too….

He was quiet. He had that hard edge to his face again, that look that I didn't recognize, and his eyes were stormy and turbulent. Upset or angry or frustrated? All three?

"I'm here alone… no one knows…" he finally said, and I wanted to believe him, I really did. "_You_ are my friend, Stiles. I would never let anyone hurt you. Even after ten years, that hasn't changed…"

That wasn't fair, it really wasn't. How could he use the friend-card against me? My head was warring with my heart. My instincts told me he was telling the truth, but my logic told me not to trust a member of Peter's pack. What to do? I had Chris' voice in my head, telling me you could never trust a werewolf, and Derek's voice shouting over his, telling me to trust my intuition no matter what. It was one of the only points in their training that didn't match up, and it was a constant state of turmoil for me… Head or heart? Logic or instincts? I had to judge by the situation in most cases, leaving things to chance much of the time. In this situation, though, I couldn't be that cavalier. This was more important than your average hunt. This was _more_ than life or death…

I met Scott's gaze again. He held my eyes for just a moment, dropping them sooner than last time. It seemed genuine; he didn't seem to be feigning submission. I wasn't sure what to make of that, but it put me even more at ease.

He silently waited for my answer, for my decision, and I watched him as I thought. He was utterly still, crouched on my roof. The scars on his throat shone pale in the moonlight, and I ached to ask him about them, to learn the stories behind every new mark on his body. I wanted to let my guard down and talk to him, like we used to, when we would tell each other every fucking thing that happened in our lives, when we were closer than brothers. He was so, so still. He was comfortable in his skin now, in his body, so different than how he used to be. I _wanted_ to let my guard down, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't trust him, no matter what, not until his connection to Peter was severed… But that didn't mean I couldn't talk to him, I just had to be careful.

"I'll come out," I said finally. Scott's face lit up, and he let out a long breath, almost a sigh, nodding once. "There's a picnic table at the edge of the trees," I told him. "I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes." I just hoped I didn't regret it… Scott nodded again before dropping out of sight. I let out a breath to match Scott's, one that I didn't know I'd been holding. The decision was made. I was trusting my instincts, trusting that Scott meant me no harm. I hoped I wasn't making a mistake.

I was up and pulling on a pair of ratty old jeans over my boxers a moment later, yanking on the first wrinkled shirt my hand grabbed from the basket of unfolded clothes on my dresser. I tucked my gun into the back of my jeans, into it's usual spot. I stayed barefoot; I ran faster without shoes… not that I had any hope of outrunning a werewolf, but you never knew what could happen…

X X X X

Scott was perched on the tabletop, feet planted on the bench. He sat in the shadowed half of the table, out of the glare of the nearby streetlight. It seemed a bit ominous, creepy, but he was a werewolf, and that's what they did best. Ominous and creepy. And annoying.

I could feel his eyes on me as I approached, and I couldn't stop my eyes from scanning the shadows surrounding me, the trees beyond, as if waiting for a pack of ravenous werewolves to emerge and eat me, or kidnap me, or have their way with me…

"I _told_ you I was here alone," Scott said in his raspy new voice, drawing my attention back to him. He didn't seem offended at my obvious caution and hesitance. Actually, he sounded kind of amused. Furry little smug bastard.

"Yeah, well, you can never be too careful," I answered, as if trying to make polite conversation. I sat at the other end of the table, planting my feet on the bench as he was, embracing the streetlight's glow. His features were faint; he was mostly just a dark silhouette against the trees beyond. He shifted towards me, moving a tiny bit closer, turning to face me. I stayed ready. Ready to grab my gun at the first sign of aggression, at the first sound of approaching werewolf paws, at the first notion of danger. I was tense, and he could see it, but he decided to ignore it.

We sat in silence for what seemed like forever. I was waiting for him to speak, but I was also just enjoying being with him, being close to him for the first time in ten years. Knowing he was alive, that he was relatively safe, was a huge weight off my shoulders. I had never been totally sure of his fate. I'd heard rumors of sightings of him, but you could never really fully trust rumors. It was a relief to see him, even though I had to constantly remind myself to be careful and not let myself get too close just yet. _Constantly_.

"I'm sorry about your father," Scott finally said in a rough whisper, looking down at his hands, clasped between his knees.

I took a deep breath. "Did you know what Peter was planning?" I couldn't help but ask, even though that wasn't what I had meant to say. I pretended not to see Scott's wince.

"Not until it was too late," Scott whispered. "I didn't find out what he had done until I saw it on the news a week later." He sounded so sincerely sorry, so guilty and repentant. I wanted to forgive him.

We lapsed back into silence, and it was almost comfortable, almost normal. At least, for a moment. Then I started thinking about everything I wanted to say, everything I wanted to ask. My knee started jumping up and down with restlessness. I kept my mouth shut.

"What?" Scott asked, brow slightly furrowed. "What is it?" After all this time, he still knew my tells. Were they still the same? He saw my expression, and his forehead smoothed, he almost smiled. "You used to twitch like that when you were trying to keep from saying something." So, apparently they _were_ the same. I sighed.

"I- just- …" I stopped, took a deep breath. "Where'd you get the scars from?" I was going to ask about his pack, about Peter, going to demand information that I could use to kill the Alpha. That's what this was supposed to be about. But that's not what kept coming out of my mouth. Scott stiffened, his eyes shifted away from me. He looked ashamed, angry, guilty. He sighed.

"The Alpha." His words were quiet, clipped, spoken through clenched teeth. There seemed to be more to it… more that he didn't want to talk about. A hot burning rage rose up in me at the thought of Peter, of what he'd done – to Scott, to my father, to everyone else – and what he continued to do. _Why would you stay?_ I wanted to scream. _Why wouldn't you find another Alpha to take you in? Why wouldn't you abandon that monster? Why _haven't_ you?_

But what came out was, "Pack is for life, huh?" Bitter, resentful, condemning. I knew how I sounded. Scott didn't rise to the bait, though. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, and when he opened them, they flashed gold for an instant.

"Yeah," he breathed, the word so full of pain and regret and guilt…

"_Why_?" I couldn't help but ask. "Please, Scott, help me to understand. Why have you stayed in Peter's pack all these—"

"Will you stop saying his name?" Scott snarled suddenly, cutting me off. His eyes burned, his lip curled, and I was afraid for a split second, my hand twitching to reach for my gun. But I stopped myself, brought myself under control… and so did Scott. He rubbed his hands over his face and growl-groaned. When he opened his eyes again, they were free of tell-tale animal glow. "I don't have a choice, Stiles, okay? I can't leave! No other Alpha will accept me, believe me, I've tried… they're too scared of him… and… and he has my mate… and I can't leave her… and…" he was shaking, and I wanted to touch him, to reassure him, to hug him, to pat his back at least and tell him everything would be fine. Even though I knew it wouldn't.

I reached for him, intending on patting his shoulder or something like that, but he jerked away from me, out of my reach, before I could touch him. Like I was made of wolfsbane or something. Like I would burn him. He turned an apologetic gaze on me.

"I-I can't… I can't go back, back to them with your scent on me… they can't know…" he tried to explain, stuttering over the words, but I got the gist of it. I couldn't touch him because Peter would smell me on him, would find out he had come to see me. I knew then, for sure, that he wasn't here on order from Peter. He was here because he wanted to be, wanted to risk himself to see me, to talk to me… to help me, maybe? He had to know what I was doing, had to know about my vendetta… Didn't he?

"I get it, dude." I said, trying to be reassuring but sounding more disappointed.

"No, no you don't. The Alpha… there's others in the pack that I care about, that the Alpha uses against me, uses to control me. If it weren't for them… He won't hurt me if I do something wrong, because, because he's learned I can't be controlled that way…"

"He'll hurt _them_," I finished for him. He nodded stiffly. He was really taking a risk in coming here. Endangering his mate and whoever else he cared about. Kids maybe? Did Scott have pups that he hadn't yet told me about? I found it hard to believe that he would reproduce in such a dangerous situation, but then, Scott had never been very good at figuring out his priorities… "Why don't you want me saying his name?" I asked quietly. That was really bothering me. It's not like the guy was fucking _Voldemort_ or something! "Shall I just call him 'You-Know-Who'? Or maybe 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named'?" I snickered at my own joke. Scott didn't seem amused.

"He doesn't like it. So we don't say it." Scott said, voice low and quiet, flat and emotionless. I glanced at the scars on his neck, aching to ask about them again, to get the story behind them. But, he'd had the chance to tell me and he chose not to. If he wanted me to know, he would have said something, right? "I know what you want…" he whispered. I perked up, staring at him intently, waiting. "You want me to help you kill him. You want me to give you all the information I know about him, don't you?" I couldn't define the tone of his voice, couldn't' tell if it was menacing or angry or just scared.

"Well, that would be nice…" I said, stepping around the subject, avoiding it directly. Scott snickered, sounding almost mocking.

"What makes you think you have any chance in hell of killing the Alpha? You think guns will do anything? Knives? You won't get close enough to use them, you won't be fast enough to shoot him…" Scott's voice rose slightly as he spoke. He sounded bitter and angry and almost-frantic.

"He's just an Alpha. I've killed Alphas before." I stated, trying to sound reassuring, trying to sound confident. Scott choked out a raspy chuckle, morbidly amused.

"Not like him. You've never killed an Alpha like him."

"What do you mean? How is he diff—"

"He's the most powerful Alpha in the country! What do you think he's been doing the last fucking decade, huh? Chasing bunny rabbits?" I shrugged in response. Maybe. It was possible. He _was_ a werewolf… "No! He's been tracking down other Alphas and killing them and taking their power and their pack and… and… augh!" He threw himself off the table, stalking towards the trees. I thought he was leaving, but he whirled around before he got to them, and began pacing furiously back and forth. I stayed sitting on top of the picnic table, watching him, forcing myself to seem unfazed by his outburst of information. _Deep breath. Happy place. Calm heartbeat. _I waited while Scott paced back and forth, as if trying to think, trying to decide what to say to change my mind, apparently. "He's invincible and infallible and I swear he can read fuckin' minds," Scott growled. He seemed to be done, seemed to be at a loss for words. _Is it my turn to talk yet?_

"None of that matters." I said calmly. Scott whirled on me with a shocked and angry expression, looked at me as if I was crazy. He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I spoke before he had a chance to. "None of it matters! I swore on my father's grave, swore to the moon, did a goddamn vengeance ritual with a handful of rogue fucking werewolves, Scott! I have the tattoo to prove it! _I won't stop until __**Peter Hale**__ is dead or I am_!" Scott was shaking his head, looking upset, distraught, desperate. But he didn't argue with me.

"I thought you might say something like that…" he murmured, words muffled by his hands over his face. "And I was praying that you wouldn't…" He trudged slowly back over to sit back at the picnic table, on the bench this time, closer to me than he had gotten any time before. He seemed to be trembling slightly, and once again I had the urge to touch him and reassure him. I resisted.

"I'm not giving up," I said wearily, the breath going out of me on a sigh. Scott seemed defeated. He nodded.

"I know."

X X X X

The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten when Scott left. We spent the entire night and early morning talking. He told me everything he could about Peter, about the pack, about the strengths and weaknesses and habits and schedules of everyone. The words seemed to be ripped out of him, seemed to pain him, and I understood. He was betraying his pack, selling them out to a Hunter. A Hunter who refused to give him any information in return.

Not that he asked for much; he knew that any information I gave him could put me in danger, could carry the possibility of Peter learning about me. I kept my lips zipped for once. The only things we talked about, concerning me, were meaningless, like my tattoos or my new jeep. I wanted to tell him more, but every time I would start to, would forget myself, even for a moment, he would stop me, interrupt me, change the subject. It broke my heart and made me want to trust him more than anything, even though I knew I couldn't yet.

I had as much information as Scott could give me, had it all committed to memory. It was terrifying and overwhelming, but I was on autopilot right now. Later, I would freak out, probably have a panic attack, and then get shitfaced. _Later_. Now wasn't the time.

I ached to give Scott a hug goodbye, and I could see in his face that he wanted the same, but we both knew we had to keep our distance. Werewolves are very touchy-feely huggy kind of creatures. I had learned that hanging out with Derek. Touch and contact was a comforting and friendly gesture, one they craved from packmembers and those that they loved. I wanted to hug him so bad. We settled for a "see you later (hopefully)" and an awkward wave. I watched him as he turned and crossed the lawn, disappearing into the trees.

_Please, please, let me see him again…_

**Well, what do you guys think? Good or bad? Favorite part? Least favorite part? Let me know! Reviews make me so unbelievably happy, you don't even know…**


	6. Under Supervision

**I apologize for any hearts I ripped out with that last chapter, hehe.**

**And I apologize in advance to those of you that like Isaac. I like him, too!**

**And I also apologize for how long I've made you guys wait for an update. I lost my internet. I still don't have it, so I have to use a friend's, but hopefully I'll be back in service soon. Cross your fingers!**

**Now that I'm through making apologies – haha - Enjoy!**

I didn't know how I was still managing to keep it together on the outside when, on the inside, I was freaking out. I was operating on less than four hours of sleep, my ribs were sore, my head ached, and my stomach was grumbling furiously. But I couldn't force myself to get up and make breakfast. I was just standing in the kitchen, staring at the wall, lost in thought and strangely calm. I was distantly worried about myself, in a weird way, as if from the outside. Shouldn't I be scared? Excited? Nervous? _Something_? I wasn't any of those things. I was just _ready_. If anything, I was impatient, eager to end this once and for all.

I had a few calls to make, and I knew I should get it done before I forgot. I had promised other people a place in this battle. Victims and survivors of the bloody slaughter being spread around by Peter, which he justified by calling 'revenge'. My father had done nothing to earn his wrath, and neither had ninety-nine percent of the others Peter had killed. I knew Derek would be pissed about me involving other people, regardless of the reason, which was why I hadn't said anything to him about the rest of the hunting party on the phone a few hours earlier. He'd just have to find out about it when he got here, when other people started showing up.

I made my phone calls almost on autopilot – still standing there in the kitchen staring at the wall - but mostly got voicemails, which I was kind of glad for; I didn't feel like long explanations. I'd prefer to tell everyone everything that I knew all at once. Brief everyone on the situation at the same time. I hated repeating myself.

When I was finished spreading the word around to the necessary parties, I forced myself to make a pot of coffee. A full pot, since I was surely expecting company sometime that morning. Definitely Jackson, and probably Danny, and maybe a few others, though a lot of my expected guests were from out of state. Like Derek. _Derek. Fuck!_

I had been trying not to think too hard about him, not to remember that he would be here in less than twelve hours. Here, in my apartment, face to face with me. I wondered if he looked the same. I didn't think I had changed much in the last five years, looks-wise, except maybe a few more tattoos. A scar or two. I wondered if Derek had any new scars, if his hair was still the same length, was still as soft, still smelled the same. If he still wore that infuriatingly sexy leather jacket and tight shirt.

Derek, who had abandoned me, who had left without a goodbye and had changed his number. Who had called me five months later to apologize and tell me he had to leave like that, but couldn't tell me why. Derek, who only contacted me any more when he needed something from me. Derek, who calmly and patiently listened to me curse and breakdown and beg for answers over the phone when I drunk dialed him, and then refuse to discuss anything before gently telling me to drink some water and go to bed. _It was only twice_. I had known Derek for nearly twelve years. He hadn't exactly started as my friend, but I quickly came to consider him one, even if he didn't feel the same at first. I was attracted to him, but wasn't _into_ him. The same way I thought other guys were attractive, guys that we just friends. My brain – maybe my little one - supplied a helpful list_. Jackson, Danny, Scott, Sly, Chr- nevermind_… I was just a weak useless human, and Derek was just an unattainably hot werewolf. I _had_ always had a thing for the hot and unattainable type, though. It was a curse having such high standards. But, even so, I hadn't liked Derek that way when I'd first met him. That came later.

After learning to trust him, being taught how to fight by him. Shedding blood with him. That one was always a constant in our relationship, in the beginning. Beacon Hills was a battle ground and we were usually smack in the center of it, Scott and Derek and I, right in the thick of the battle. It was just the three of us for so long. We were only watching out for each other, and that's one of the reasons I'll always partly blame myself for my father's murder. I didn't protect him. I wasn't there. I made him a target with my open defiance of Peter and his wolves. But he assured me he could handle himself, that he didn't need werewolf protection, that all he needed was the right weapon, and I listened to him, and gave him wolfsbane bullets, and trusted that he could protect himself. We were both _so_ wrong.

I looked at the mug of coffee cupped between my hands, still mostly full. It was a big white mug, old and chipped, with the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department logo on it. _Peter Hale will die_, _no matter what_. My vendetta had always consumed me, had always been an obsession. Because of that, I was able to see things from Peter's viewpoint to an extent; I was able to understand why he had done some of what he had done. Everyone involved in the murder of the Hales deserved to die. I understood that, I got it, because I knew that I would probably have felt the same way, and done the same thing. For _them_. To bring them justice. Not for myself. That was the difference. Peter's actions had been about himself, about his own pain and his own life, not the loss of his family's. That's why he became what he became. That's why he was a monster.

My father didn't need to die for Peter to get his revenge. Neither did any of the other innocent people that burned to death in Beacon Hills, or that were killed by Peter's thugs, Isaac Lahey and Adam Greenberg. Scott had been the first to be Bitten, but he certainly hadn't been the last. After Scott, Peter seemed to choose his victims with more care, singling out the lost and broken teenagers and recruiting them with a vengeance. None were as bad as Isaac and Adam, though. They were a dangerous duo. Isaac had something dark inside of him, something twisted, and he made the perfect little pawn for Peter to destroy even further. And Adam… he was just so eager to please, so eager to do anything to make Peter happy, to follow any orders he was given enthusiastically. It was a bloody few months for Beacon Hills after they were Bitten.

If it wasn't for Derek and Scott's protection… I had no doubt that I would have met the same fate as the other kids Peter claimed. I would either be a member of Peter's fucked up pack, or I would be dead. More than likely the second one. People started dropping like flies, and even the hunters' presence in town wasn't enough to protect anyone, even when they were killing new werewolves regularly. The families of the newly-turned kids were some of the first slaughtered. The initiation kills needed to cement the kids' places in Peter's pack. Derek and Scott and I managed to save two. Two kids in twenty. Just two girls, Erica Reyes and Harley Thompkins.

When The Last Full Moon In Beacon Hills came along, Peter was too strong. He had a big pack then, and Scott couldn't resist the orders of his Alpha any longer. He didn't show up at the usual meeting place. He made his own initiation kill that night. But at least it wasn't his mom, or me, or Derek, or Allison. For all that Scott had been weak, at least he had been strong enough to keep from killing those he loved… He killed Adrian Harris, a teacher at our school, instead. He was Peter's from that moment on. We couldn't help him. It hurt like nothing else I had ever felt before, losing my best friend like that. It was the worst thing I had ever felt… that is, until my father was killed…

X X X X

An angry pounding at my front door shattered me from my memories, dropping me into the present with a start. I almost dropped my coffee cup I was so startled. There was a pause, then more pounding. Another pause.

I quickly crossed the room, and peered through the peephole to see who in the hell was trying to break down my door, though I already had a suspicion. And, yes, my suspicion was indeed correct. Angry, intense blue eyes stared back at me, and I squeezed my own eyes shut and took a deep breath, steeling myself before opening the door.

Chris pushed the door open and squeezed past me almost as soon as I clicked the lock and turned the knob. He slammed the door behind him, jerking it out of my hand, and turned on me furiously. I, having been on the receiving end of Chris Argent's fury more times than I could count, was _not_ intimidated… much.

"You don't answer my calls, and then I hear that you were meeting with a goddamn werewolf early this morning, and when I try to call again, it goes straight to voicemail! Care to offer an explanation, Stilinski?!" Chris was all up in my face, and I was so not in the mood for his crap right now, I rolled my eyes, and the angry-vein on his forehead damn near burst.

"First of all, back off." My voice was gravelly from lack of sleep and irritation, and I was a teensy bit surprised when Chris actually drew back a little, as if he hadn't realized how close he'd been. "And, second of all, chill the hell out dude, because you kinda sound like a jealous girlfriend, and it's been a few years since I've heard you sound like that." Chris scowled again, and looked like he was about to argue, which he had no room to do, because he had totally acted like that all the time when Derek was training me. I spoke before he could. "And, _third_ of all… why the hell do you have someone watching me?! I thought we were past that?!"

Chris had the decency to look a little bit guilty, but he didn't stop glaring piercing glass daggers. It had been three years, _as far as I knew_, since Chris had stopped keeping close tabs on me. I wondered if he had just gotten better at hiding it, and I had been under supervision this whole time without knowing it. The thought made me angry, but I bit my tongue and managed to keep my anger in check.

"You've been worse, lately," Chris said simply, by way of explanation. "Don't think I haven't noticed." I gritted my teeth, biting back certain angry words that would just get me into trouble.

"Well then, it's a good thing the end is near, ain't it?" I tried for a joke, but it just sounded forced, and it wasn't all that funny to begin with. Chris just looked at me, and I looked away before the look in his eyes could turn to pity. "Look," I bit out through clenched teeth. "I know what everyone says about me, that I'm a loose-cannon, that I'm a liability, that you're wasting your time with me, yada yada." Chris' lips twitched faintly. "But I'm going to be careful with this, okay? I'm not gonna to be reckless and thoughtless and stupid and whatever."

"No one ever said you were stupid." I noticed he didn't deny everything else.

"So then why do I have a shadow?" I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows challengingly. Chris sighed and swiped a hand over his face.

"You're worrying me, Stiles." He muttered, making me feel guilty. "You've been operating as if you have nothing to lose. But you've got a _lot_ to lose, and it scares me how you seem to have forgotten that." I wanted to argue, to tell him I had nothing but my own life to lose, and that my life was a small price to pay if I took Peter's. Something I was _willing_ to lose. But I figured if I said that he'd just worry more. So I kept my mouth shut for once. Chris scoffed, shook his head, seeing the thought all over my face, as usual. I'd gotten harder to read over the years, but there were still a few people who seemed to have no trouble seeing past that. Chris was definitely one of them. Derek was another, if our brief phone conversations were anything to go by. And Allison was pretty good at it, too…

"I've been working towards this for almost ten years, and now it's within my grasp. I'm _not_ gonna do anything to fuck it up. So tell your lackeys to back off." I was speaking through my clenched teeth as I tried to stay calm. How was I supposed to trust Chris the way he wanted me to, when he couldn't even trust _me_?

Chris sighed and gave me an apologetic look. "You know I can't do that."

"Chris!"

"Sorry, Stiles. With Hale on his way, and you having secret meetings with werewolves—"

"It wasn't a "secret meeting"!" I felt like a teenager trying to argue their way out of being grounded. "Scott just _showed up_, what was I supposed to do? Call you and ask for your fucking permission before I talked to him?"

Brief surprise registered on Chris' face at the mention of Scott's name. "Yes! You're supposed to call me! Tell me what you're doing so you can have back up if you need it!"

"I didn't need it."

"But you _could_ have. What if Scott's visit is part of a setup?"

"I don't think it is. I just talked to him. He gave information about Peter and his pack. I had a feeling that he hadn't been sent there by Peter."

"What have I told you about your "feelings"? You trust your head, your senses. You trust what you see and what you know—"

"I don't need a refresher course. I remember everything you taught me, thanks."

"We can't trust any information you got from Scott." Chris looked thoughtful as he headed toward my dining table; the headquarters for many strategic talks. He looked as if he hadn't even heard my snarky comment. "Peter isn't stupid. Playing on your emotions, attacking psychologically, is something I could see him doing. What easier way to do that than with _him?_" Whatever I said wouldn't matter. When it came to werewolves, Chris' default reaction was still distrust, even after all the "good" werewolves he had met. I hadn't entirely convinced myself that Scott hadn't been acting under Peter's orders, but my instincts were telling me he wasn't. Chris had never been one to trust my instincts, though.

Chris sat at the table, and then looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to come and sit, too. But I didn't want to. I crossed my arms and stood stubbornly where I was.

"I didn't share any information with him, if that's what you're wondering. It was strictly a take situation. No giving." Which I somehow felt guilty for. It was the ingrained sense of werewolf culture, of equal exchange and balance, I think, that was bothering me the most. Derek introduced me to werewolf culture, but I expanded on that knowledge and learned more through other means. My fingers strayed absently to my left arm, tracing fondly over the swirl of script and runes and symbols that curled around my shoulder and down my arm to my hand. The tattoo was a special one, a nearly-unknown language, tapped into my skin the old-fashioned way by a group of nine werewolf 'shamans'. I had spent three weeks among them a few years back. I learned a lot from The Nine, and in addition to the gift of knowledge, I had the gift of the dark red ink decorating my skin when I parted ways with them. No one else knew of my encounter, of course. If I told anyone, it could put me in danger, according to The Nine, though I wasn't really entirely clear on why. Lucky for me that there were so few werewolves who even knew about The Nine any more, much less recognized their language. Most werewolves thought they were just a myth.

Chris was just staring at me, arms crossed, expression stern. I raised one eyebrow and fought the urge to babble under pressure. Chris spoke first, and I tried not to look too triumphant. "When is Hale supposed to arrive?" My heartbeat quickened slightly at the mention of Derek. It bothered me.

"I'm not exactly sure. Sometime before nightfall, I assume." I expected the exasperated noise Chris made, and I ignored it. Derek was vague on the phone, and I wasn't even sure where he was living now, so… how was I supposed to know? Chris fixed me with another stern and commanding look.

"Well. I expect a call as soon as he arrives." He stood, shooting me a look as he went for the door, opened it, preparing to leave.

I smiled drily. "And I'm sure you'll get one, though it probably won't be from me." The tail was still a sore subject. I was pissed off about it, even though I understood why Chris was doing it. Didn't mean I had to like it, or that I deserved it. Either way, nothing I would say would change Chris' mind. I knew from experience. I would have to show him. He gave me a long look, then left without a farewell. I rolled my eyes and shut the door behind him. Well, 'slammed' is probably a better word.

**I'm hoping to post another chapter soon. I don't think you guys will have to wait as long for the next one. Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think! REVIEW! Good or bad I don't care, all feedback is appreciated as long as it's constructive...**


	7. Send the Cavalry

**I have internet now! YAY! Expect more regular updates…. Or if not regular, at least more often. Probably once a week, more or less depending on what I've got going on. You won't have to wait a month for a new chapter any more… if I even have any readers left, haha.**

It was dusk, and I still hadn't gotten any reply calls. I was starting to worry. I was getting restless and antsy, with nothing to do but wait. I could have done laundry or cleaned my guns, but I was too keyed up to do anything but pace and overreact. The coffeepot was still full, coffee ice cold by now. My phone hadn't rung once. No one had knocked since Chris had left. Danny had texted a couple hours ago asking if I had heard from Jackson or knew where he was. That was the only contact I got.

My nails were bitten to the quick, and I was just starting in on my cuticles when I heard footsteps on the stairs outside and froze. A moment later I relaxed a little as I watched Danny let himself into my apartment.

"Heard from Jackson yet?" I asked hopefully. He shook his head slowly as he closed the door behind him. I tried not to worry.

"It's going straight to voicemail now," Danny said absently, as he stepped forward and grabbed my hand, stopping me from chewing on my cuticles. I nodded. I was starting to think something fishy was going on, but I wasn't sure what. "Whiskey?" Danny asked, breezing into the kitchen before I answered.

"Not right now," I called. Silence, and then Danny reappeared in the kitchen doorway, looking more worried than before, and kind of surprised.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he demanded.

"What?"

"You're not just worried about Jackson. What else is going on?"

"It's just… I was expecting company, but I haven't heard from any one all day… I'm not sure…" I trailed off and started chewing on my cuticles again. Danny pulled my hand away from my mouth again.

"You called them this morning?" he asked. I nodded. "Huh." That was all he said. I didn't ask for any more. After a moment, he went back into the kitchen. I started chewing on my cuticles again.

X X X X

Thirty minutes later, Danny and I were sitting at my kitchen table, comparing notes and arguing about whether or not to call Chris and report Jackson missing. I thought we should follow normal protocol and wait twenty-four hours before making a big deal out of it. Danny thought normal protocol was void right now, considering the fact that I couldn't get in touch with anyone else, either, and because of the situation with Peter. He was right, but I just didn't want Chris involved yet. He probably knew already, anyway, and I wasn't sure what exactly Danny knew about the whole me-being-watched situation. Chris was probably just waiting for my call, waiting for me to ask him for help. Which I wasn't going to do.

"I think we should wait. You know Jackson; he doesn't think to call and let us know he's alright if he's late."

"This is a lot more than just late. He said he was going to run a few errands around noon. I haven't heard from him in over five hours. He's not answering his phone, and neither is anyone else. _Time to call Chris_."

"And how stupid are you going to feel if he just met some girl and you send the cavalry out after him while he's getting' busy?" Danny just gave me a look. "Or guy…"

"Don't go there." He went into the kitchen and I heard the refrigerator open. A moment later he came back with a bottle of water and a slightly sour expression. "How are _you_ going to feel if he's actually in trouble and the time we waste costs him his life?"

"Probably worse than you would feel if the first thing happened," I said with snort. Danny gave me that concerned look again, the one I hated. "There you go, worrying about my emotional state and psychological health again, buddy. Worry about your own brain for a change." I grabbed the unopened bottle of water from him and he frowned at me disapprovingly, crossing his arms while I cracked it open and took a gulp. "Bottom line, Danny," I said, screwing the cap back on the bottle. "I'm not a kid anymore, and I'm not going to run to Chris for every little thing."

"This isn't a little thing."

"I can handle it."

"I already tried tracking him, if that's what you were thinking. I can't figure out his password…" He sounded almost ashamed. I smirked.

"I bet I know it. Did you try N-O-S-K-C-A-J?" I sounded smug, and I knew it. Danny narrowed his eyes.

"His name, backwards? Really?"

"How much do you wanna bet that's what it is?"

As I was accessing the tracking site on my smartpad, Danny's phone chimed. I recognized the tune that meant a message from Jackson, and Danny scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket in a hurry. I typed Jackson's username and password and phone number and social security number into the tracker methodically. Security had gotten a lot tighter in the past few years. Danny was frowning at his phone next to me.

"What's he say?" I asked, watching the screen as the map loaded. Danny frowned deeper and shook his head.

"Here, look." He handed me the phone, and I frowned too as I read it. 'stiles n danny meat shoters bhind dmpster 10pm. RGNT! brng condms' Shooters was a local dive bar, and there was a small closed-off abandoned parking lot behind it where a lot of criminal activity happened. But that wasn't the weird part about the message, oddly enough. Jackson was a bit anal about correct spelling and grammar when he was messaging - it was a bit annoying sometimes actually - so it was weird that nothing was spelled right except our names. The "bring condoms" part was our code for an ambush, but it still made my snicker, especially considering the rest of the message. "I'm calling Chris," Danny said, taking his phone from my hand. I wondered what Chris would think of the message, since he wasn't familiar with our code.

"Wait. Look." The map had loaded on the screen, showing the location of Jackson's phone, the place the text had just been sent from. The warehouse district, a couple miles from Shooters. "We shouldn't just charge in there, guns blazing. We have to be cautious. We don't even know the situation."

"I'm still calling Chris." He started to dial, but I snatched the phone from his hand, lightning-quick.

"Not. Yet." I said through clenched teeth, smothering his protest. I pocketed his phone, just in case he decided not to listen to me. He glowered.

"What's your plan then," Danny asked, sounding resigned and quite irritated. I smirked smugly, but before I could open my mouth, a knock came at my door. I hadn't even heard anyone on the stairs. Danny and I shared a look, he shrugged. If it was Jackson, he wouldn't knock…

I automatically crossed the room, went to open the door knob. "Check first," Danny hissed. I rolled my eyes, but glanced out the corner of the living room window anyway, barely able to see the shape of someone standing at my door in the dying light of the dusk. The shape was familiar, somehow, though… and then the person turned his head and I saw his profile. I drew back from the window slowly, turned to look at Danny. His eyebrows furrowed worriedly at whatever look was on my face. "Who is it?"

"It's Derek."

**Short, I know, but a new one will be coming soon! Please let me know what you think. Review. It's the right thing to do.**


	8. Moving Into Position

**Much thanks to Maiqu, xMissxSpunkyx, and Puckurt-VS-Kurtofsky, for commenting on the last chapter!**

**I'm trying to get the ball rolling and get the action started, so that's why this chapter is so long (compared to my other chapters), and took a little bit longer to finish than I had originally thought… The next chapter will have most of the action, this one is mostly just a lead-in.**

"It's Derek," I whispered, heart pounding. Then instantly felt like an idiot. Derek could definitely hear me, could smell me at the door, could probably even hear the rabbit-fast tempo of my heart. I took a deep breath, tried to calm down, and glanced through the peephole. Stubble and dark hair and fierce green eyes. I was peeved to see him smirking. I looked back at Danny, not knowing what to do for a second. He just gave me that sympathetic, knowing look, again, that I hated _so fucking_ much.

"Are you gonna let him in?" He asked, slow and patient, making me feel like he was patronizing me, even though I knew he wasn't; it was _Danny_. I bit my tongue.

_Open the door. Duh. That's probably what you're supposed to do, Stiles._

I flicked the lock and opened the door, quickly, before I lost my nerve. Derek stood there, hands thrust into the pockets of his old leather jacket. A familiar pose. His lips quirked a tiny bit as he looked me up and down, and I was acutely aware at my state of undress; wearing only the ratty jeans I had thrown on earlier that morning, shirt discarded a long time ago. The jeans were worn and holey from abuse, slung low on my hips with no belt to keep them up. I felt uncomfortably naked. Not that he hadn't seen it all before, but that was a long time ago… I noticed him taking in my new tattoos, eyes lingering on a certain few… Well, more like he was staring openly at them. I was sure he was going to say something – though I wasn't sure what - but then he seemed to shake it off, and looked up at my face again.

"Hey, Stiles," he said, sounding exactly the same as I remembered his voice sounding in person. Smooth and silky, musical, sounding like it would be perfect for singing - not that Derek would ever consent to such a thing – and totally at odds with the way he looked.

"Perfect timing," was all that came out when I opened my mouth. I knew I had been gaping at him, but damn. It had been so long since I'd seen him face to face. I was astounded at how _exactly the same_ he looked. His hair was a bit shorter, a bit messier, his stubble a bit more beard-y, but other than that… sourwolf expression, piercing gaze, leather jacket. Check, check, check. I almost thought I was dreaming for a minute, like Derek had stepped right out of my thoughts, a fully-formed werewolf-shaped entity taking the form of my childhood fantasy. He didn't even look as if he had aged a day. _Goddamn amazing… Obviously a werewolf thing…_

"You gonna let me in or stand there and stare at me all day?" he said with that same patronizing tone. _Well I guess a warm welcome is off the table. _I was wondering why he hadn't already pushed past me and let himself in when I remembered the board of solid mountain ash wood in the doorjamb, a magical barrier for non-human beings. It wouldn't keep a determined werewolf out indefinitely – they could always rip through the walls – but it served its purpose well enough, Derek followed my gaze, glanced at the board, then back at me impatiently. I hesitated. He scowled. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. I did! Even after all this time, and all the bullshit between us I knew I could trust Derek. But you could never be too careful…

"You weren't followed, were you?" I asked slowly, glancing behind him as if expecting to see someone lurking there.

"No one knew I was coming, but I was careful." He explained as he crossed his arms. I nodded. Then stared at him some more. Danny cleared his throat pointedly behind me, and it was only then that I remembered he was there. I turned to look at him, and he rose from the table and came to stand next to me, an inscrutable look on his face. Oh, right, I needed to let Derek in. _Not_ stand and stare at him all day. For some reason I hadn't thought this through very far. I had protection wards on my house, to keep non-humans from entering. Derek was a werewolf and always had been, and some of the others I was expecting weren't necessarily of the human variety, either. For Derek and the others to enter I would have to remove my protection. Be vulnerable. Did the protection Derek offered make up for the protection that removing the mountain ash would be taking away?

Danny was looking at me questioningly. He held up a screwdriver I hadn't noticed he had, silently inquiring. I sighed and nodded, and he knelt down and shoved the tool underneath the board, prying it out of its place where it had been fitted snugly into the doorjamb. He pulled it free and stood up, propping it against the wall, tucking the screwdriver away as he went to sit in the living room, giving us a small measure of privacy that I was both appreciative and terrified of.

The moment Danny was out of the way, a strange look crossed Derek's face, too fleeting for me to identify, and then it was back to its usual blank look, and he was stepping towards me. Before I could escape, or even decide whether or not I even wanted to, Derek was wrapping his arms around me and tugging me close, smelling me and scent-marking me at the same time. Yeah, I knew exactly what he was doing, and I was baffled as hell. Talk about your mixed fuckin' signals. The epitome of hot and cold. Treating _me_ like the wayward pack member after his own self-imposed exile from my life. I let him sniff me and mark me, though. It was a werewolf thing, and some things were easier to just give in than fight about. At least, that's what I told myself.

To Danny, who wasn't as familiar as I was with werewolf culture and body language as I was, it probably looked like a lingering and meaningful hug. But I knew it was all innocent. It had to be.

I was beginning to wonder when Derek was going to let go. I wasn't hugging him back but I wasn't pushing him away, either. Maybe he was waiting for a reaction from me. It was something he had a tendency to do with me, something he had always done; make a move, then wait for my reaction. Like stalking prey. I don't know why I thought that would change, when , it seemed, nothing else had.

"Derek," I said his name quietly, carefully emotionless. He seemed to snap out of it, letting go of me with one last long inhale in the vicinity of my neck. It struck me as something oddly intimate, even in werewolf body language, but Derek ignored the pointed look I gave him. I stared at him harder. He stayed silent, looking at me… expectantly?

I realized I was still blocking his way, keeping him from entering my apartment completely, and snorted at myself. I stepped aside, and he slipped in past me, brushing against me lightly in a way I wasn't entirely sure was accidental. I closed the door behind me, glaring at him suspiciously, following him with my eyes as he made a circuit around the room, looking and sniffing and inspecting and judging things with his nosy judgmental Alpha werewolf nose and eyes and hands. I glanced at Danny briefly and was both grateful and irritated to find him apparently engrossed in a newspaper, which must have materialized out of thin air, because I didn't subscribe, or ever pick one up. No one did any more. That's what the internet was for.

"Are you almost done snooping, Snoopy?" I snapped when he scanned through a stack of books and catalogues on my coffee table. I tried to distract from the awkward tension in the room by making things serious. "Because we kind of have pressing business? Jackson's missing, and-"

"Tell me what happened," Derek said, cutting me off, turning to face me.

"I was trying." I said through clenched teeth and abruptly went to sit at the dining table. Derek followed, taking the chair directly across from me. Danny looked over at us for a moment before standing up. He folded up the newspaper and tucked it under some of the catalogues on my coffee table before he came to sit down at the other end of the table. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. Derek arched an eyebrow at me, waiting. Danny looked concerned. I just couldn't figure out where to start.

"What's the problem?" Derek asked slowly, with that familiar, slightly condescending tone.

"There was a text sent from Jackson's phone-" Danny started.

"I'm getting to it!" I interrupted him.

"Hello, Danny," Derek said suddenly, looking down at the other end of the table, acknowledging him for the first time.

Danny smiled politely. "Hi, Derek."

"Are you two done?" I was irrationally irritated.

"Will you just tell me what's going on?!" Derek snapped. I narrowed my eyes at him and he just looked at me blankly.

"There was a message sent from Jackson's phone asking Danny and I to meet him at a location nearby. He's been missing all day and our code for an ambush was at the end of the message. We just found out all of this, literally, _right_ before you got here." I explained.

"Hence the "perfect timing"." Derek muttered.

"Also," I began warily. "I may have called some other people… and werewolves… to help. And, um, I haven't heard from any of them, either. Oh, and I met with Scott early this morning, and he gave me, like, all the information about Peter and his pack… so, yeah… that's about it…" I was worried Derek was going to be pissed. Positive, in fact. And I may have been tensing a little with the expectation of violence. But he just looked at me. The muscle in his jaw ticked once as he clenched it.

"Scott's alive?" he said at last. My mouth dropped open. I realized I hadn't even told him the whole story…

Now wasn't really the time. "_Yeah_, Scott's alive! What do you mean is Scott alive?! Of course he is! Was there ever any question?"

Derek gave me a vaguely apologetic, guilty look, and lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug, and I understood. Despite all Derek's reassurances to me that Scott was living and breathing and okay, he had always had his doubts. I never had. I'd always trusted Derek, trusted that what he told me was what he believed himself. Apparently I was wrong…

"You know that was dangerous, though, right? You shouldn't have trusted him, Stiles." His voice was tight and clipped, as if he was trying to keep his cool. He shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I was expecting a lot more. Yelling and growling and insults, maybe? A little borderline physical abuse? Had Derek changed that much in five years? When he opened his eyes again, they flared red in the light for a brief moment before returning to their normal stormy green. No, he hadn't changed that much, he had just found something besides anger to anchor him human. I jealously thought of the female voice I had heard in the background when I talked to him the night before. "You can't trust anything he told you. He could have been here on Peter's orders. And even if he wasn't, chances aren't very good that he kept his little visit a secret from his Alpha for too long…"

"I know, don't you think I've thought about that? I've been thinking about that all morning! It's driving me fucking crazy… which, if it was a setup, is probably the point…" It just didn't feel faked to me. The whole thing felt genuine, from Scott's concern, to his sorrow, to his desperation and fear, and everything else. The part that was bothering me so much was thinking about what would happen to Scott – or those loved ones of his that he had mentioned – if Peter found out that he came to see me. Nothing good, I was sure. "He says he has a mate now, and others that he cares about. What do you think that means?"

Derek looked at me appraisingly. He knew exactly what I was asking, and knew I wasn't just looking for reassurances, that I was asking him for the truth, for his opinion. It was sorta strange how easily we had fallen back into old patterns of behavior, patterns of conversation, so quickly. Despite the years apart, and the unresolved feelings and anger between us – or, rather, from me toward him - nothing much had changed. I found that reassuring and unsettling at the same time,.

"I think it means that not all of Peter's pack is as corrupt and evil as he wants them to be." Derek answered slowly, thoughtfully, after a long moment of silence.

"So, you think we may be able to save some of them?" I asked, hopeful. I knew many of Peter's pack, had been friends with some of them, and I knew that almost every werewolf of Peter's had been Turned against their will.

"I don't know." He said honestly.

"So," Danny said, all of a sudden, getting our attention. I had almost forgotten he was there. _Again_. "Back to Jackson." I looked over at him guiltily.

"Right." Derek said, all business again.

"We tracked his phone to the warehouse district." I supplied. "Danny thinks we should call Chris, but I think a more discreet operation is needed. We don't know what the situation is yet."

"You should call Chris," Derek said. Danny looked triumphant, but I glared at Derek. He wasn't the one running the show here. "But not yet." He continued. "Wait 'til we get there and assess the threat, until we're about to make a move, then send him a message asking for backup. Just in case."

"Just what I was thinking," I said. Danny rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Look, I need a few minutes to get ready," I told Derek. "Just… just- wait here." I stood up from the table.

"Hey," Danny said. I turned back around and raised an eyebrow. "Can I have my phone back now?"

"Right. Yeah," I took his phone out of my pocket and tossed it to him, then turned and left the room to prepare.

X X X X

A few minutes later, the three of us were meeting up again in the parking lot - fully armed, in mine and Danny's case. Danny had to go get a few things from his place, and we agreed to take one vehicle. Danny and I, that is. Derek stubbornly refused to get into my Jeep and insisted on riding his growling and primitive – gorgeous and lethal-looking – stripped Harley. I didn't ask what had happened to his Camaro. I was glad he hadn't brought it. That damn car held as many memories as my old beat up blue Jeep. Which was why I was driving the black Jeep now…

The warehouse district was across town, but the traffic was light, and we were there in less than ten minutes, hours earlier than we were supposedly meant to meet Jackson behind Shooters. I couldn't help glancing in my mirrors as I drove, watching Derek on his bike keeping pace with me. It was infuriating in a weird way, and I clenched my teeth, unable to stop my repeated glances in spite of myself. Danny looked out the window and didn't talk. I was glad for the silence for once. There was no point discussing strategy without Derek here. We'd just have to repeat everything again once we got there.

As we entered the warehouse district, I immediately jerked my Jeep off the road and into a nearby, sheltered and empty parking garage, backing in. Derek thundered in with me and I winced, sure every werewolf in a hundred mile radius could hear the echo of his bike. We were going on foot from here. It was a bit of a risk, but the walk wasn't too far. Derek's bike was too loud for stealth.

Neither of the men questioned me, they just followed me out the back of the parking garage and down a back alley. Danny kept looking around, and I was about to ask him what he was looking for. "What's the plan?" Derek muttered under his breath before I could speak, and I quickened into a near jog, taking a swift turn down another alley.

"I figure we'll just wing it. Figure it out when we get there, right?" Danny snickered. I sighed. "I have a bad feeling, though, so we should probably hurry up." Danny shot me an alarmed look as we quickened our pace. Even Derek looked a little concerned. "You got that message ready, Dan-o?" I asked as we drew closer to our target destination. He grunted an affirmative.

As we rounded the next corner, I felt a flutter in my gut and I felt Derek tense up next to me. W stopped, an instant before a dark shape came pelting out of the darkness to our right, nearly silent. I recognized her almost immediately, and turned an accusing gaze on Danny, who had the decency to look a little guilty. Allison smiled at me and saluted me with her compound bow.

"Didn't think I was gonna catch you guys," she said, just a little out of breath. "Should we go? I understand it's kind of urgent…" She started forward and I thoughtlessly followed her. Then I scowled and moved a few steps ahead of her, speeding up to a quicker pace. I was still leader of this operation, Allison Argent or no Allison Argent.

I glanced over at Danny again. He avoided my gaze.

"Look, I don't want to hear it, okay?" Allison said. "I'm a soldier. I don't care what my dad says."

"I'm already on his bad side…" I said idly. Allison gave me a look like, "as if you care." I smirked slightly. I noticed she and Derek purposefully avoiding even looking at each other and slowed down a little to get between them. Allison fell inot step beside me, and Derek fell a step behind, so close I could practically feel his breath on the back of my neck. _Creepy stalker werewolf_. "Fine. Just remember who's in charge," I warned. She rolled her eyes at me. Like there was any way she'd leave if I said no, anyway.

"Stop." Derek breathed all of a sudden, the word gusting against the back of my neck and sending shivers down my spine. The four of us skidded to a halt. "There's a wolf. She's downwind of us but coming toward us at a slow walk, from the left."

"That's the direction of the warehouse where Jackson's cell phone is." I didn't say Jackson was there, because I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, including my own.

"So it is _werewolves_, then." Danny said. It wasn't a question. We all suspected it, but now it was definitely confirmed.

"The whole place reeks of them. Like it could have been anything else," Derek muttered, almost to himself.

"Peter's pack?" Allison breathed, staring ahead. Derek lifted his nose further into the air, scrunched his face up slightly.

"I think so... It's hard to tell. It's... diluted." He said to the wall.

"Who else would it be?" I asked, squeezing in front of Derek, who looked as if he had been planning on intercepting the she-wolf himself. No, that was all me. Derek gave me a disapproving frown – I could feel it on the back of my head – but refrained from comment, moving into position to back me up. Maybe not all me, but both of us. A moment later I heard the muffled sound of soft footsteps. She must not have been very experienced. She would be flighty and nervous. Almost as an afterthought, I motioned at Danny and Allison, and they disappeared from our side, circling around to block her in if she decided to run.

The footsteps slowed to a stop a moment later. Derek and I shared a look. Derek tapped my shoulder and pointed up. I scowled and shook my head. He scowled harder and went up anyway, silently scaling the side of the building while I seethed mutely at him for not listening to me. I waited with baited breath, but all I heard was the faint scuff of a shoe against the concrete. No more footsteps. Nothing else.

A moment later Derek dropped down beside me, startling me. I bit my tongue to avoid an embarrassing yelp of surprise and turned to him expectantly. He held a finger to his lips and I almost flipped him off. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn his lips twitched slightly before he motioned for me to take a peek around the corner. I glared at him, but complied. A young girl stood there, seemingly just out of her teens. She held a phone in her hands and seemed to be typing a message, fingers furiously flying as she stared at the screen. I rolled my eyes, turning back to Derek with a disbelieving look. He actually seemed kind of amused and gave a slight shrug. I knew what he meant. _That's what you get for turning a bunch of teenagers._

Things were going to be a lot simpler than I thought they'd be. I was almost suspicious. I motioned vaguely toward the she-wolf, a little irritated. Derek snorted, but obediently rounded the corner. I heard a gasp, a faint scuffle, and a moment later Derek came back with the female in tow, hand firmly over her mouth, her eyes big as saucers. I drew my knife. Derek narrowed his eyes at me, but refrained from comment and continued holding the girl in place as I approached her. I held up the knife and leaned in close.

"He's gonna let you speak," I jerked my chin at Derek. "But if you try to call anyone for help, my friend here," I brought the knife a little closer to her line of sight. "will be making friends with your insides. Got it?" Her eyes were huge and scared and she nodded. I didn't let myself feel guilty; the werewolves would have smelled it. I gestured to Derek and he dropped his hand down to her neck. His other arm was curled around her waist, but she wasn't even struggling.

"A-are you… Stiles or Danny?" she asked softly as soon as her mouth was free. Derek and I exchanged a curious look. He shrugged one shoulder almost imperceptibly, answering the question I hadn't voiced.

I nodded. "Stiles. Why?" I was more than a little suspicious. The girl swallowed and took a deep breath, looking, oddly, kind of relieved.

"I'm supposed to lead you and Danny to the warehouse where your friend is…" She finally answered, sounding hesitant. "B-but I wasn't told anything about another werewolf."

"Told by who?" I snapped. She whimpered. Derek's grip had loosened on her, but he still had a hold of her arms, just in case she tried anything, like attacking or fleeing.

"I'm not supposed to say." It was the first time there was any real strength in her voice, and I had a feeling we weren't going to get it out of her. Not that I wouldn't try anyway.

"Was it Peter?" I breathed. She looked disturbed, furrowed her brow and shook her head, avoiding my gaze. "Scott…?" Her gaze flashed up to mine, and she seemed curious, but she shook her head again. Who the hell _else_ could it be? Derek's brow was furrowed; uncertain and wary. Was this a trap or was this someone trying to help us?

"I'm just supposed to lead you and Danny to the warehouse where your friend is. There isn't very much—" she was cut off by a werewolf's roaring howl nearby, which faded into a gurgling shout. "Do you have others with you?" she hissed, sounding almost accusing. I barely had the chance to nod before the sound of feet pounding on pavement made me tense. I glanced at Derek, but he didn't seem startled. A second later Danny and Allison came around the corner. I noticed two of Allison's bolts were missing, and Danny's face was splattered with an arc of blood. His eyes looked a little wild.

"We killed a sentry," Allison said, hardly even out of breath, even after the sprint. "He came up behind us… he howled before we could stop him." She looked guilty and apologetic and I almost rolled my eyes. I wasn't her father. Just because some part of the – loosely constructed – on-the-fly-plan had unraveled, didn't mean it was the end of the world. I rarely went into a situation with one set plan. I usually had a few different ones in mind, and I was never sure which one was going to be executed until the last second. I waved my hand at Allison, waving away her apology.

"This girl says she's supposed to lead us to Jackson," I told them, gesturing to the she-wolf. My two friends looked wary. "She says neither Peter or Scott told her to do it, and… she's not lying?" I glanced to Derek for confirmation and he shook his head. I nodded. Allison and Danny looked confused. Allison didn't even acknowledge that I'd mentioned Scott. Danny must have filled her in completely then. I fought the urge to glare at him.

"Um, we should probably get the hell out of here," the she wolf said suddenly, eyes flickering around nervously. "Joey howled for help, not to alert anyone to trouble." She shook her head, seeming disapproving. "The other sentries will be leaving their posts to help him, even the ones near the den… ah, the warehouse your friend's in. When they find him dead... well, it won't be good." I was actually surprised she was volunteering so much information without me having to ask. Maybe she really was trying to help us. My gut told me it wasn't a trap… I nodded to her.

"By all means, lead the way." I motioned to Derek, and he let her go after a hesitant moment. The four of us watched her suspiciously, as if she would take off at any minute. She didn't even seem to notice our cautious stares, and we followed her as she moved to the next alley over and climbed up a fire escape onto the roof. I was about to remind her that most humans couldn't jump a ten foot gap between buildings like a werewolf could, but then I noticed the makeshift ramps…

This had been well thought out and planned in advance, it wasn't spur of the moment "hurry go help them". Whoever had orchestrated this whole thing knew somehow that we were going to be here tonight, and not just meet behind Shooters. Either that, or the werewolves brought humans this way more often than normal. That thought made me uneasy. But something kept me from questioning it.

The five of us were silent as we made our way over warehouse rooftops. A few times, the two werewolves froze - and the humans followed suit – before moving again after a moment. But we remained undiscovered.

"Here we are," The girl said all of a sudden. I glanced around. This rooftop didn't look any different from the hundred other rooftops surrounding us, except that I could see a faint flickering light in the rooftop window. "He's in there," she reassured. "There's six wolves with him, two experienced. I need to go before the other sentries wonder where I am. They'll be suspicious if I don't respond to Joey's call for help, like them." She turned and was gone before I could say anything, or ask anything, or maybe even thank her, whoever the hell she was.

I crept cautiously toward the window, peeking briefly inside and moving back again before anyone happened to catch sight of my face by happenstance. Four male wolves, two females, scattered about and not on guard. I could only assume the big freezer in the middle of the room underneath the bare hanging bulb was Jackson. It didn't look like it was plugged into anything, so I was hoping he wasn't an icicle. The problem was the deadbolt and chain on the damn thing.

Oh, wait, I had a werewolf with me. Of course, Derek could easily break the chain. A lot quicker than it would take me to find the key and unlock it, anyway.

"Stiles," Danny breathed, softening his s's so the whispering wouldn't catch the attention of the keen-eared werewolves below. "What's our next move?" They were all looking to me, even Derek. Which was understood, considering I was the leader of this operation. For an instant it felt like too much pressure, like too much responsibility. I wanted to just give Allison the reigns, or Derek.

"Focus, Stiles," came Derek's voice all of a sudden.

_And in another instant I was seventeen years old again, side by side with Derek as we faced off with a group of Peter's wolves. "Focus, Stiles! Listen. Draw their attention to you, and when I strike, cover me." I remembered smirking at him arrogantly. "How about we just split them up? I'll take three you take three. That sounds a lot quicker, don't you think?"_

"What's the plan?" Derek asked, pulling me from my memories.

I sighed. "You're not gonna like it…"

**So what do you guys think? Oh, yeah, and by the way, what do you think about the new cover? Reviews are my currency... PAY ME! lmao**


	9. another 9

Okay, I know it's been three months since the last time I gave an update about where the story has gone. I'm just here to say that I STILL HAVE NOT GIVEN THIS UP! I've been working on it a bit, but I've been very busy lately, trying to plan my wedding and pull everything together by June, while simultaneously dealing with health problems and not having a ide anywhere. So, yeah, I've been pretty busy. But I work on this when I can! I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE you have not seen the last of A New Breed. There is more to come! I'll update here as soon as I post the first chapter on AO3!

- LLLupine


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